“Your friend the innkeeper has heard tell of something like it,” Dhulyn said, putting down the cups and sliding in next to him. “He says it’s happened a few times at Jaldean shrines, during meditations.” Dhulyn shrugged, and lifted her cup. Parno knew perfectly well what she thought of townsmen’s religious practices.
“Anyway, Linkon Grey tells me that this falling into a fit, this…” Dhulyn shivered, “whatever we want to call it, that’s where it’s happened before. Sometimes there are miracles, Healings and the like, and when that happens, the Jaldeans tell people they’ve touched the dreams of the Sleeping God.” She took a swallow of her ganje. “Most come out of the fits all right. Not all.”
“All that time in the Great King’s court I was wishing we were here, and now that we are, I’d give my best sword to be back with the Western Horde,” Parno said.
“Always supposing we’d be welcomed back.” The smile in Dhulyn’s voice matched the one on her lips as she threw him a sparkling glance. Parno grinned back at her.
“What was it you so carefully didn’t say, back there at the Finders?” she said, watching him over the rim of her cup. “When the wife asked was there a Jaldean in the crowd, you froze like a man caught in his neighbor’s bed.”
Parno’s throat closed like a fist, his smile melting away. He couldn’t tell her. She’d laugh at him. But she was his Partner. Who else could he tell? It would sit like a lump of poison in his gut if he didn’t tell someone.
“Spit it out, you blooded effete,” she advised him, her grin softening her words. “Stop trying to spare your dainty feelings.”
“While I was standing in the window with the second boy,” he began, his voice sharp as he pushed it past the tightness in his throat, “I had the oddest feeling of being watched.”
“Of course you were being watched.” Dhulyn’s blood-red brows made a small vee above her eyes.
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Not like that, it was like… when you’re all alone in the woods, but you feel you’re not alone, and you look around and see nothing, but later you find a print and you know some beast’s been watching you.”
Dhulyn’s nod was slow. “There was no animal in with the mob-not that kind anyway.”
Parno shook his head. “I think it was that Jaldean New Believer. Or maybe, maybe something that was with him. I felt… there was something I couldn’t see. Something that seemed to comb through my mind and thoughts and I couldn’t stop it.” Parno took a sip of his ganje to cover the trembling of his lips. “It made me feel… unmanned.” He couldn’t look up.
“Well, that’s saying quite a lot.” Dhulyn looked at him with eyes widened in pretended innocence.
“Demons and perverts! I should have known I’d get no sympathy from you.”
“It isn’t sympathy you want, you blooded fool, and you know it.”
The tightness in his chest began to dissolve. “But you believe me?”
“It made you sweat to tell me,” she said, reaching behind her to rub the small of her back with her fist. “I don’t need any other proof. Of course I believe you.”
Parno nodded, taking a swallow of ganje to hide his relief. He’d expected her to laugh, really laugh that is, not just tease him. Showed you that you never knew what an Outlander would do or say. And that seven years of Partnership doesn’t always tell you everything about your Partner.
There was something else, something he’d better mention now, while he still could. “Did you see what color his eyes were?”
Dhulyn closed her own eyes a moment as she searched through the images of memory until she could light upon the one detail-
“Brown,” she said.
That matched what he thought himself. “They were green when he looked at me,” he told her. “Glowing green like slices of jade stone with the sun behind them.”
Dhulyn raised her cup to her lips, made a face when she found it empty. Parno signaled the waiter, waited quietly while their cups were refilled. Dhulyn suddenly sat up straight, her eyes narrowing.
“Did you feel like crying?” she said. “Or striking yourself?”
“Ah.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You’re saying it was the Jaldean, all of it.” He picked up his fresh ganje and set it back down again without tasting it.
“Or whatever it was made his eyes glow green.” Dhulyn frowned, the fingers of her right hand braiding to form the sign against ill luck. “Some drug perhaps?”
“When did you See the fire?” he asked, using his nightwatch voice, soundless and almost breathless. When she raised her eyebrows at him without answering, he added, “You knew which alley to go down.”
She looked away and shifted in her seat. “This business with the Marked,” she began. “It makes no sense.”
Parno took a swallow from his cup. “You read too much poetry. This is all about power. The Jaldeans assert themselves at the expense of the Marked. When the Marked are gone, the Jaldeans fill the void.”
“Fill it with what? Promises and platitudes?”
“Fear and righteousness.”
“And meanwhile people die for want of Healers, starve for want of Finders, and go mad for want of Menders.”
“Not everyone, there’s few enough Marked that many don’t depend on them.”
“Not so many.” Dhulyn chewed on her upper lip. “Parno, my heart, remember that time you told the tavern dancer that I could See his future for him?”
“I remember what you called me,” Parno said, trying for a smile, “and what you told him about me. And I remember how sore I was in practice for the next few days.”
“I don’t think you’d better make that offer to anyone else.”
“I’d already thought of that.” Parno waited a minute before asking. “Did you See anything else?”
“Gotterang.” Her lips twisted as they named the capital of Imrion.
“No.”
Heads turned and a waiter hesitated on his way across the room. Parno lowered his voice again, shaking his head. “It’s back to the Catseye for us. Imrion is no longer the land of my childhood, nor even the land we left after Arcosa. Caids know, it’s not safe for you there.”
Dhulyn nodded, but so slowly Parno knew she was really saying no. “Ship’s gone,” she said. “Tide turned while we were with the Finders.” She looked up and gave him her wolf’s smile. “If any of the Marked are safe, it would be me. No one thinks to meet a genuine Seer, most people don’t even believe in them anymore. Besides, since when do we look for safety, my heart? We’re Mercenary Brothers.”
“I won’t lose you to the Jaldeans.” That was as plain as he could say it.
“And if I lose you?” Dhulyn set her cup down with a thump and looked her Partner in the eye, holding his gaze when he would have looked away. This was neither the time nor the place she would have chosen to speak on this subject, but surely she’d been silent long enough. Partnership was a life bond in the Mercenary Brotherhood. Or was meant to be.
“What do you mean?”
“A demon haunts you,” she said. “A demon from your childhood.” She waited two heartbeats, three, but Parno made no move to deny her words. “Shall I tell you how many times in the last year I’ve turned to you on the trail-or worse, on watch-and found you, wits abstracted, staring into the middle distance? Or how many times woken up in the middle of the night and found you awake, staring at the stars?”
“You never said anything.” Parno’s eyes held hers for a moment longer before falling to where his fingers were clamped around his own steaming cup.
“I waited for you to speak, and the word spoken was Imrion.”
“I never meant…” Parno heaved a deep breath. “It’s only that I began to wonder what became of my Household and I…”
“Spoke to me of Imrion.” Dhulyn leaned back in her chair, nodding. Of course, she thought. Time had softened whatever had made him leave his House and become a Mercenary Brother. But to tell her so, to ask her openl
y to return with him to learn what had become of his past-she smiled, a twisting of her lips. How could he ask this of her, who had no past to return to?
“This business of the Marked changes all of that.” Parno took a deep breath and released it slowly, pushing his cup to one side. “Very well, I admit that I’ve wondered about my House, my father… but going there endangers you. If the Catseye is gone, then we’ll take another ship.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Dhulyn leaned forward, though her voice was already too low to be heard beyond their table. “You actually counsel the safe and the secure to a Mercenary Brother-to me? What next? I should open a book shop and die in my bed? We’re Mercenary Brothers. One day we’ll make a mistake, and someone or something will kill us. This is our truth.”
“It’s everyone’s truth,” Parno began.
“But we know it, and we don’t run away.” Dhulyn licked her lips. “We don’t run away.”
“In Battle,” Parno said.
“Or in Death,” she answered.
Parno leaned against the serving bar, the common room of the inn slowly filling with customers as the afternoon lengthened and laborers came in for a midday meal or a quick mug of ale on their way home. Those who were already drinking something stronger had neither homes nor meals to go to. The serving girl had just swept up the last of the broken crockery from around the table where he and Dhulyn had been sitting when Linkon Grey the innkeeper, a little stouter and a little grayer than when Parno had last seen him, came out of the serving door behind the bar.
“Hot stones will be ready in a minute,” Linkon said.
Parno turned. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, jerking his head at the girl moving toward them with her broom and dustpan full of what had been two plates and a pottery mug.
“Not your fault, Lionsmane,” Linkon said. “Though I’ll have to replace them, and with no Menders the blasted potters are charging an arm and a leg. But not to worry, I took the price out of the man your Partner threw out the door. He should have taken no for an answer. If you didn’t want to work for him, you didn’t want to work for him. And I don’t blame you, if he was lying about the job.”
“Wolfshead’s good at spotting liars,” Parno said, “though your house cat would have known the fool was lying, come to that. Normally she’s more forgiving. His bad luck he pushed it a little too far at the wrong time, if you catch my meaning.”
“Oh, I catch it all right. My wife’s the same, though not much capable of throwing me out the door, for which I thank the Caids.” The man grinned.
Parno grinned back and didn’t bother to correct the man. Dhulyn wasn’t his wife, but there were few people outside of the Brotherhood-and even some within-who understood what it meant to be Partnered.
“Though I can’t say I’m surprised the man persisted,” Linkon continued, as he laid out mugs on the bar ready for spiced cider when it came hot from the kitchen. “There’s not so many Mercenaries in Navra at the moment, and for that reason, a word in your ear.”
Parno obliged the man by leaning both elbows on the bar, bringing his face within inches of the landlord’s. He’d once spent almost a whole winter at the inn, and had developed a friendship with Linkon Grey that even the passage of years did not change.
“Two of the Watch were in here last night, looking for a couple of Mercenary Brothers who’d helped some Finders yesterday.”
A chill traveled up Parno’s spine. Not Linkon, too. “People had set fire to a house with children inside it.”
Two red spots appeared on Linkon’s pale cheeks. “Don’t misunderstand me, Lionsmane, you did the right thing, though I wouldn’t say that to any and everyone.”
“Will this bring you trouble?”
“I was able to tell them, truthfully, that I’d not seen you-it was only your baggage was here all night. But they’ll be back. It may take a few days, most of the Watch is none too eager to jump to the Jaldeans’ orders, but like it or not, they’ll have to come around again, sooner rather than later. And then…” Linkon Grey pursed his lips and raised his brows.
“Oh, come, Link! We’re Mercenary Brothers, what can they do to us?”
Linkon shrugged, turned away to accept a cider jug from the kitchen boy, and turned back to pour out mugs for himself and Parno. He waited until the boy used a second jug to fill a tray of mugs and carry them off to distribute among the tables before leaning forward again.
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. It wasn’t so long ago the Marked were saying the same thing.” He frowned, brows pulled down, before meeting Parno’s eyes once more. “I like the Brotherhood. It’s always good to have some of you in the place. It brings custom and it keeps order, all at the same time. But it’s my family as well as my business I’ve got to consider.”
“I’ll get Dhulyn-”
“Nah, man, you’ve a day at least-more like two. As I said, the Watch will be in no hurry, so long as you draw no more attention to yourselves. But you’d be doing me a favor if you accept the next offer that’ll take you out of the city.”
Parno looked around, saw that there was no one close to them. “When did this business with the Marked start? The Wolfshead and I came almost without stopping from Destila,” he added, naming the city at the far end of the Midland Sea. “Only changing ships at the Isle of Cabrea. The last time we were on the Peninsula, the Jaldeans were no more than harmless old priests.”
Linkon looked into the depths of his cup. “You’ve been away to the west, you say, Lionsmane, but you’re from Imrion yourself, eh?”
“You know better than that, Linkon. We’re Mercenary Brothers, the Wolfshead and I, and that’s where we’re from.”
The innkeeper nodded, tongue flicking out to the corners of his mouth. “Still. If it were anyone else…” He shrugged.
“The trouble wasn’t started by the old priests you remember, asking for alms at the shrines of the Sleeping God. It’s the New Believers who are preaching against the Marked.”
“Any oppose them?”
“They say the Tarkin himself,” Linkon answered, “but there’s a limit to what he can do.”
“What’s he like, this new Tarkin? When Wolfshead and I fought with Imrion when they took the field against the Dureans at Arcosa, the old man was still alive.”
“They say the son’s not the warrior his father was, but he’s no fool either. The High Noble Houses acclaimed him when old Nyl-aLyn died, and that says something.” Linkon gave a sharp nod. “Still, in this new matter only a few of the Noble Houses have declared themselves one way or the other. It’s all the Tarkin can do to prevent an open breach between those as support the New Believers and those who would just as soon let be. The New Believers’re saying the Tarkin doesn’t see the danger-”
Linkon broke off as his younger daughter came out of the kitchen doorway with a tray of pies.
“Danger? From the Marked?” Parno cut in as soon as the girl was out of earshot. “How dangerous can they be? There’s not three in two hundred who are Marked.”
“How many does there need to be to awaken the Sleeping God?” Linkon had lowered his voice still further. “I’ll tell you straight, since it’s you I speak to, Lionsmane, no good can come of any persecution of the Marked. It’s madness, pure and simple. But the whole of the West country was flooded last spring, an earthquake leveled Petchera in the summer-and there’s rumors the Cloud People are looking to break their treaty. Imrion’s luck has turned bad, you mark my words.”
Parno laughed to cover the chill that had come over him, raising the hairs on his arms. “Why, Linkon, we’re Mercenary Brothers looking for work. Imrion sounds like just the place for us.”
“Well, you know your own business best, but mark my words-”
A noise from the kitchen doorway made him turn again. “Ah, here’s the warmed stones for your Partner now.”
Parno accepted the stones, heat palpable through their heavy coverings, smiling his thanks to the kitchen boy. He gave Lin
kon a we’ll-talk-later nod and made his way between the tables to the staircase.
Dhulyn Wolfshead suddenly gasped, curling around her belly, her eyes squeezed shut. Parno froze, one hand holding up the thin woolen blanket, the other stopped in the act of pushing one of the heated stones closer to the small of her back. Which would be safest, hold still until she quieted or finish what he was doing?
“Gotterang,” Dhulyn said, spitting out the word between gasps. “Gotterang.” Her left hand lashed out, and closed on the air where Parno’s wrist had just been.
“I know, Dhulyn, I know,” he said, using his voice to soothe where his hands could not. He shoved in the warm stone, lowered the blanket, tucked the edges under the pallet and sat back on his heels. He covered his Partner with the other blankets and both their heavy winter cloaks before raising himself to his feet, movements cautious and slow, and stepping back from the edge of the bed. He went only as far as the doorframe, where he leaned, listening. Eventually Dhulyn’s breaths came slower, took longer, as the valerian mixture he’d put into her cider took effect.
This would make twice she’d Seen Imrion’s capital. While that didn’t necessarily make her Vision more likely to come about-still it made him think.
“We go to Imrion,” he said to her, voice still pitched to quiet and soothe. “And Gotterang the capital, no less. You are Senior, and you have spoken.” It relieved him of the responsibility, he thought, but not of the knowledge that his had been the hand that placed out the tiles in this particular game. A demon, she’d said. And she was right. The demon of his life before the Brotherhood. Was his father still alive? His sisters?
The Sleeping God Page 3
